


crossover drabble

by Tieleen



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-14
Updated: 2010-08-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:21:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tieleen/pseuds/Tieleen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Have you noticed, Watson," my friend said to me that morning, as I was gathering our things and preparing to leave, "something curious about this case?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	crossover drabble

"Have you noticed, Watson," my friend said to me that morning, as I was gathering our things and preparing to leave, "something curious about this case?"

"Aren't there often curious things about our cases?" I returned. My attention, I will admit, wasn't entirely on him; I had misplaced my boot, and had just completed the arduous task of kneeling down to look under the beds, only to find the task unrewarded by any trace of my object. The difficulty of such actions was always slightly embarrassing to me, and though my friend's eyes were turned away and out the window, I had no doubt he was keenly aware of both my physical and my emotional states; it might well had been the reason for his question. It was not anything out of the commonplace, but twined with my bewilderment as to the whereabouts of my boot, quite enough to provide for a good amount of distraction.

"Certainly," Holmes said, not turning from the window. There was enough humor in his voice to tell me he had grasped this last part of the situation as well. "I will put before you, however, that this oddity is slightly out of our usual field; specifically, I am thinking about the prints we found around the unidentified body. Did anything strike you as unusual about them?"

I had just then located my boot, lodged, of all places, behind the chest of drawers on which the television set was still broadcasting mutely. The sensation of triumph might have made my voice milder, but the distraction of it was enough to prevent me from any conscious effort in addition to it; then, also, I had only just realized we'd missed Oprah. "Well, yes, Holmes," I said, with more than a touch of impatience in my voice, "I did notice that great big set of wing prints on the ground at both its sides."

"Oh, yes," my friend said, turning now to regard me with that same humor in his eyes, dismissing my incredulity with a wave of his hand, "there were certainly those. But that fact might have distracted you, my dear Watson, from the much more pertinent impression located not ten feet away -- a half-print of a size-ten shoe, very clearly made."

I was staring at him in surprise, my now-forgotten boot still in my hand, when a sudden noise from the direction of the bathroom made me whirl around, my other hand going to the small of my back and my trusty pistol.

"Doctor," said the angel Castiel, once again standing uncomfortably close by any measure of common manners. He nodded at me, then, distracted, flicked a glance over my shoulder, where, I knew with complete confidence, Holmes was now lowering his own pistol. His eyes found mine again. "We need to talk."


End file.
